He didn’t finish, but it was clear he thought they were in for trouble. Not that Jake disagreed. It was why he’d brought an extra magazine.
Just then the wind changed direction. With it came the sound of the dogs.
‘Thar’ they be,’ said Ted, pointing with his pipe towards the Bankes Hotel, and as he said it, so the three dog sleds came into view. At the same time two other figures came striding round the corner to the left: Tom Hubbard and Jack Adams, a beefy, bearded man in his mid-thirties who lived on the far side of their village.
Driving the sleds were Eddie Buckland, a local man from Corfe; Dougie Wilson, a slender, taciturn fellow from Kimmeridge; and Frank Goodman, from Langton Matravers, down Swanage way.
As the two parties merged, there were shouts of greeting, while in nearby houses, doors and windows were flung open, as people got up to watch the men get ready to depart.
As Tom came closer, he glanced across at Jake and nodded, the faintest smile on his lips.
‘You’re looking rough, old friend.’
‘I’m getting old. I can’t drink the way I used to.’
Tom’s smile broadened. ‘Ne’er you mind. You’ll soon walk it off.’
And that was it. If Jake had thought there’d be any more to it then he’d been wrong. As Tom turned away, his movements as natural as ever, Jake breathed a sigh of relief. Tom was no actor, and if he’d noticed nothing strange about Mary’s behaviour, then there was probably nothing to notice.
Maybe he’s left her in bed, sleeping it off.
Only if it were he setting off for a four-day trip, he’d have made sure he’d woken her. As he always did with Annie.
People were emerging from their houses now, bringing a last few items to take to market and trade. Afterthoughts. Things they had no need for. Old Josh was one of them, and, spying Jake, he came across.
‘Jake, boy… you know what I’m looking for. If there’s anything, get it for me, and bugger the cost. But use your judgement, eh? It’s gotta be playable.’
He placed a leather pouch of coins in Jake’s hand.
‘Christ, Josh… must be half your savings here!’
Josh leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘That’s it, boy. Every last crown of it. But I reckons thar’ll be some’at this time, what with all the strangers on the road. But you know what I’m lookin’ for. No crap, mind. You come back with a Kylie album and I’ll be sorely pissed off wi’ you.’
Jake laughed. ‘You can trust me, Josh. If there’s anything, I’ll make sure it’s yours, all right?’
‘Thar’s a good boy, Jake Reed. Good as a son to me.’
‘It was fine music last night, Joshua. Some of the very best.’
The old man nodded and grinned. ‘Thar’s naught like the old songs, eh, lad?’
Jake slipped the coin pouch into his inner pocket, then, the last few pieces stashed, climbed up beside Ted Gifford on the first wagon. There was quite a crowd by now – fifty or more, gathered about them – and as Tom led the party down the slope towards the barrier, so the villagers followed, their chatter filling the morning air.
Ahead of them, the two watchmen – Dick Sims and John Gurney – heaved at the gate, straining to move the massive barrier, once a part of a level crossing, back against the wall. Then they stood aside, joining the others in waving and cheering the party through.
As they went round the curve of the castle mound and out of sight, Jake reached behind him and took his rifle from where he’d stowed it temporarily, then loaded a fresh clip into the magazine.
They were moving slowly, at walking pace, the two ponies straining, heads nodding, as they pulled the fully-laden weight of the wagon.
Jake always liked this part of the journey, down Challow Hill, following the old railway line – the tracks long since removed – and across Middlebere Heath towards the ancient Saxon town of Wareham. There was something eternal about the place, something untouched, that stirred his soul. There were one or two farmhouses here and there, scattered to either side of the track, but you barely noticed them, they were so much a part of the landscape.
Jake leaned out, turning to look back at the rest of the party. Directly behind them, its two ponies keeping pace for pace with theirs, was the second wagon, with Dick Gifford at the reins. Beside him on the long bench seat was Eddie Buckland. Seeing Jake, Eddie touched his cap and grinned.
‘Fine day, eh, Jake?’
‘Looks like it!’ Jake answered him, touching his own cap, acknowledging him.
Beyond the second wagon were the three sleds, the dogs straining eagerly, keen at this stage of the journey to press on, while at the very back of the party, keeping up a brisk walking pace, were Tom and Frank Goodman.
Jake didn’t know Goodman that well. It was only recently that the villagers down there had decided to throw in their lot with Corfe, and on the one occasion Frank Goodman had come along, Jake had stayed at home. But Tom spoke well of him and he was a big, tough-looking man.
Seeing Jake looking, Tom waved, then called out to him.
‘Keep an eye out, Jake! And no nodding off now! You can have a kip when we get there!’
Once more the gentle, teasing tone of Tom’s voice reassured him.
Jake looked beyond them. From where they were all you could see was the great green rampart of earth that formed a natural barrier against invaders. Only as you got further away could you see the castle again, tall and elegant even in its ruination, dominating the landscape for miles around.
He turned back, glancing at Ted Gifford as he did. But Ted was miles away, lost in his own thoughts, snatches of old songs – for the most part unrecognizable – escaping him from time to time.
Beside Ted on the bench seat, Jake noted, was his handgun. A Smith & Wesson M327 with a .357 Magnum calibre. An 8-shot. One of the finest handguns ever made.
‘You think they’ll come at us, even as we are?’
Ted looked at him. ‘Not ’ere. Not out in the open. But there’s places… We need to be cautious, old friend. Things is ’appening.’
There it was again. That sense they all had. Something had changed, but no one knew quite what. Only that it made them all a little edgy.
‘You lookin’ for anything special this time round?’ Jake asked, changing the subject.
Ted shrugged. ‘Thought I might buy a nice mirror if they got one. You know, with bevelled edges. Betty’d love one. The old ’un smashed, see. Apart from that…’
He shrugged, then turned back.
They were pulling out round the Ridgeway now, heading directly west. In a while the great mound of earth would fall away behind them and to their left, leaving them in the midst of a low, slightly marshy heath that stretched away into the distance. Wareham itself was only three miles away and if your eyes were good you could make it out, far off to the north-west.
This had never been a hospitable land. It was too rough, too raw and untended to be admired in a traditional sense, yet its wild beauty was undeniable. Men had lived here for thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years, and yet they had never conquered it.
Up ahead, the broad path dipped down and to the left, the old railway track they’d been following ducking beneath what had once been the main route into Corfe, the old A351. Slowing the ponies, Ted manoeuvred them down past a row of old cottages that had been long abandoned, and up a small steep slope onto the road. It was a bit of a struggle, what with the full weight of the wagon, and Jake had to jump down and add his strength to that of the ponies to get them up over the lip.
There they paused for breath. Ahead of them the old road stretched off in a straight line across the ancient heath, its surface badly cracked, covered in a thick layer of weed, wild flowers and bracken. Yet the line of it was still discernible, running like a long, thin scar across the landscape.
They came out here from time to time and tried to clear it, making it a day out for the surrounding villages – a picnic of sorts – but their efforts never lasted long. I
n a week or two it would return, no matter how thorough they’d been. Yet at least it was passable. Like much else about their lives, they made do with things as they were, and this was one of them.
As their party formed up on the road, so Jake and Tom, Eddie and Frank went ahead, using long-handled scythes to cut a way through where the path was overgrown.
Slowly they made their way, while just as slowly the sun climbed the sky, coming up over Studland Bay, to their right as they laboured.
‘’S gettin’ warm,’ Eddie murmured, pausing from his task to wipe his neck. ‘I thought it would be a lot colder than this.’
Tom laughed. ‘Just think of the pint that’s awaiting you…’
‘And a good fry up,’ Frank added, grinning and looking about him. ‘Now set to, lads, else we’ll be here all bloody day!’
They set to work once more, hacking away at whatever lay in their path, and slowly they progressed, the wagons and dog sleds edging their way closer and closer to their first stop. Just over an hour later, covered in sweat from their exertions, they stepped out onto the cleared section, just across the river from the old town.
‘There’s got to be an easier way,’ Frank Goodman said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.
‘If there is I don’t know it,’ Tom answered. ‘But I do know this. It’s spared us a lot of grief over the years. Just as it’s hard for us to get out, so it’s just as hard for roaming bands to get in.’
Jake looked away. Maybe that was true, but it was far from perfect. They’d lost many a good man to raiders over the years. Yes, and women and children too. But things were far worse elsewhere.
‘Come on,’ he said, looking to the others. ‘Let’s go and freshen up. I don’t know about you, but I’ve a thirst on me could kill a man.’
Wareham lay on the far side of the river, the back walls of its southernmost houses right up against the water’s edge. In ancient days it had been a walled town, built by Saxon kings, and its street plan remained unaltered from those times. Like the Isle of Purbeck of which it was a part, it was a place of great history. Owing to its geographical position, however, it had long been a town in decline. Now it was a total backwater, a place one passed through on the way east. Even so, it had its compensations, among them the finest inn in the locality.
The Quay Inn was on the right as you entered the town, just past the bridge, its long terrace overlooking the river. As they pulled up in the courtyard, two of the tavern keeper’s sons came out, greeting them by name and asking them what their fancy was.
While the others ordered breakfast, Tom and Jake went inside to see the landlord.
Jack Hamilton was a big, cheery man, in his sixties now, but brimming with good health. He had been landlord of the Quay Inn for almost thirty years. When the Collapse had happened, he had helped man Wareham’s defences against the bands of murderers and thieves that had plagued the land back then. Now that things were more peaceful, however, he indulged in what he called his ‘other favourite sport’ – that of talking.
But there was a purpose to their talk that morning. Jack wanted something from market, and he was prepared to pay handsomely for it.
‘I dunno…’ Tom said, feeling ill at ease with the request. ‘Goods are one thing, Jack. But this…’
‘Tom… you of all men must surely know… and you, Jake… A man needs a wife. And where in this godforsaken town am I likely to get one? No. I needs to get one where one’s available, and where’s that if not Dorchester?’
‘But Jack… what if I chose the wrong girl for you? What if—?’
Jack cut in. ‘I won’t hear it. I know you’ve the eye for it. Your Mary now… and you, Jake… your Annie, bless ’er soul… You men knows a good woman when you sees her.’
‘Maybe,’ Jake said, sharing Tom’s unease, ‘but why not go yourself? Or come along with us. I mean, if that’s what you want…’
‘Oh no,’ Jack said, frowning now, troubled by the suggestion. ‘Me? Why I’d just choose the first one they showed me, and probably pay twice the price she were worth. No… I need someone who knows how to haggle. Who can get me a good, fresh girl... an unspoiled girl, if you knows what I mean. Someone as’d be good at cleaning out rooms and serving the odd pint now and then.’
Tom looked to Jake and shrugged.
‘All right,’ Jake said, relenting. ‘But if we don’t see anyone we think is suitable, then we’re not to blame, right? And we’re not bringing back anyone as doesn’t want to come, you understand? You’re not buying a servant, Jack Hamilton, nor a slave. You’re buying a wife, okay? Someone you’ll respect.’
The big man grinned. ‘Now there’s friends for you! I’ll bring you the cash straight away. But you relax now and have a good meal and a refreshing pint. It’s on me, my lads. It’s my pleasure.’ And he turned away and was gone.
Tom looked to Jake. ‘Are you sure? I mean, what if she runs?’
‘Then we choose one who won’t. Who wants to settle. Who’ll see this as a chance for a good life.’
‘And how are we gonna know that? What if she lies to us?’
‘We’ll know.’
Tom stared at him a moment longer.
‘What?’
‘I was just thinking. I mean, while we’re sorting old Jack out…’
Jake sighed. ‘I told you last night. I’m not interested.’
‘No?’
But Jake could see Tom was teasing him again. He grinned. ‘Come on. I’m hungry.’
‘You’re a man in need.’
Yes, he thought, but he had to look away, lest his best friend saw through him and caught the vaguest shadow of his thoughts.
They were sat at the long table by the window when Eddie, who’d been put on guard duty, put his head round the door.
‘Tom… Jake… we’ve a couple of strangers snooping about…’
They were up at once, every last one of them, grabbing guns and piling out the door. The wagons were where they’d left them, beside the sleds in the middle of the yard, the horses tied at the trough nearby. The dogs were sprawled out beneath the wagons, fed now and resting.
‘Where?’ Tom asked, looking about him.
‘They must’a gone,’ Eddie answered. ‘They must’a seen me go in.’
Tom climbed the steps up to the roadway and looked about him. Jake joined him there, just in time to see two men slip down a side street, clearly in a hurry. Tom looked to him.
‘Fancy a look?’
Jake nodded.
Tom turned, looking to the others. ‘Finish off then get the animals in harness again. We’re going to set out in twenty minutes. Meantime, Jake and I’ll go check those two out.’
‘You sure?’ Ted Gifford asked, looking concerned. ‘What if they’re bad ’uns?’
‘We’re going to have a look, that’s all,’ Jake said. ‘Check them out. Make sure they’re not a threat.’
‘They’re not local,’ Eddie said, gravely. ‘Least, I didn’t recognize them.’
‘But they were sizing us up, eh?’
‘They seemed real curious.’
Tom looked to Jake. ‘Ready?’
‘Sure. Lead on.’
Jake took the safety off his rifle then followed Tom.
They went quickly, looking this way and that, careful not to let anything escape them. Locals scattered as they came near, ducking into shops or down side roads. As they came to the street the two had disappeared down, they stopped.
‘Cover me,’ Tom said. ‘I’m going to cross over. See if I can see anything.’
Jake raised his gun, and as Tom ran across, he leaned round the corner, aiming at whatever he could see.
The street was empty.
Jake looked to Tom, who stood there in the open, out in the middle of the street.
Well? he mouthed.
Tom gestured for him to step out alongside him. Jake quickly went across.
‘The Antelope?’
Tom nodded. At the bottom of the street was
another inn. The Antelope. They knew the landlord. He was a bit of a braggart and a bully. Not only that, but his beer was sour.
‘What if they come out to face us?’
‘Then we run like fuck.’
Jake grinned. ‘You sure you wanna do this?’
‘I don’t want the bastards pursuing us all the way to Dorchester. I wanna know who they are and what their intentions are.’
Only right then they heard noises from the road behind the inn; the sound of booted feet running away. Briefly they saw movement at the end of the street as a dozen or more men took off. Jake made to follow them, but Tom reached out and took his arm, holding him back.
‘Well… now we know. They’re not friends.’ He looked to Jake, concerned. ‘We’d better get going straight away. Try and keep ahead of those fuckers.’
‘Right,’ Jake said. ‘But one thing first. We go speak to the landlord. Find out what he knows. How many of them there were, and what they looked like.’
‘You think he’ll tell us?’
‘I’ll make him tell us.’
Tom considered that a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go speak to him. But Jake…’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t get angry with the man. I don’t want to fight him unless I have to.’
Eddie and Ted were waiting for them at the top of the steps when they came back. They looked anxious.
‘Well?’ Ted asked. ‘What do we know?’
‘There’s a dozen of them, maybe more,’ Tom answered, looking beyond the two on the steps to the others. ‘Landlord of the Antelope says they’re just traders, but how many traders do you know who travel that light? No. They’re raiders. And they’re headed the same way as us. So we need to stay vigilant. And we need to stay armed at all times. You see one of the fuckers you don’t ask him any questions, you just blow his fucking head off, got me?’
‘I’ll be glad to,’ Frank Goodman said. ‘Be a real pleasure.’ Which made the rest of them laugh.
‘Good,’ Tom said. ‘Then let’s move on.’
Peter stood at the top of the tower, the highest point of the ruins, leaning out over the edge, looking out across country to the north-west. Much as he liked being closer to Meg and her sisters, he hated it when his dad was away. Hated how it made him feel, like everything was suddenly much more fragile. He didn’t like that stomach-wrenching sense of uncertainty it gave him, that anxiety he carried with him every waking moment; the fear that he would never see his dad again. It was awful, and nothing Meg could say or do would make it go away. But then Meg didn’t understand. She hadn’t lost someone the way he’d lost someone. She didn’t realize just how brittle it all was.
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